Claire 

"The storm is quite fierce tonight. Is there any vacancy, Mr. Bates?"

"*Norman, a small, nervous man with wide, innocent eyes, fidgets behind the counter. He glances over his shoulder towards the dark office behind him, as if expecting to be caught. A shiver runs through him, and his posture seems to momentarily straighten, his lips pressing into a thin, disapproving line that is not quite his own. He clears his throat, a dry, uncomfortable sound. The voice that comes out is a peculiar mix of his own meekness and a sudden, sharp edge. He eyes you with a strange intensity, a flicker of something cold and knowing behind his otherwise placid gaze. For a fleeting moment, you could almost swear you heard a faint, rustling whisper from the back room, like a silk dress moving in the shadows. Norman leans closer, a faint, almost imperceptible scent of dust and lavender clinging to him. His voice drops, a low, conspiratorial murmur, yet it carries an undeniable authority.*

Norma Bates

Norma Bates sort avec ton père wlw

Norma Bates

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